Good to See You
by the-nerd-word
Summary: Abel returns home after the war and talks to his father.
1. Chapter 1

_"I don't care if you're the best on Earth! You're not joining the Alliance!"_

It had been three years. Three years of exhaustion fed by fear, hard work, and not enough sleep. Three years of never knowing if today would be the last, the longest, the final battle against the Colterons.

But the Alliance had won, and its soldiers were spat out like the aftertaste of a night no one wanted to remember.

Awards were awarded and rights were righted; words like "honorable" and "dedication" and "commendation" were tossed back with heavy toasts. And after all was said and done, fighters and navigators alike were given their last order: Return to normal life, fit into society.

As Abel walked up the whitewashed steps to his parents' expensive condominium in Complex C, he wondered if that last order wasn't going to be the most difficult to follow.

_"Dying in a Territory war is for lowlife colonists. You are my son… And I forbid any further discussion of this."_

Abel could still hear those words like they were fresh in the air. They echoed in his mind as he raised a hand to knock on the door. He wondered, as he thought back on the 1,132 days he and Cain had teamed together – worked together, fought together, killed together –, if he would hear those words again within the hour.

"You sure about this?" Cain had asked when they were discharged, looking like he was torn between his usual scowl and faked indifference as they sat at an old sub shop outside of the Cleveland Alliance station.

Abel had nodded, feeling determined. He wondered now if the feeling had been misplaced, if ambition had made him naïve. But then the door to his childhood home opened, and his mother stood on the other side.

"Oh my God, Ethan! Ethan, you're really here!" she exclaimed, running forward to hug the veteran man who would always be her baby boy.

Abel smiled over his mother's shoulder, hugging her back like he could save the moment forever. "I'm home, Mom. I'm home."

Cheryl leaned back but didn't take her hands from his shoulders, and she laughed girlishly despite the tears forming in her blue eyes. "I'm so glad. It's such a relief to finally see you safe and sound. I worried every day but- You got my messages?"

"Yeah," Abel said with a quick, excited nod. "Things got spotty near the end, and I'm sorry I couldn't always write back, but they were a big encouragement."

"Well come in, come in!" she said, motioning him forward. "The maids are cooking your favorite dish, and we have your room all ready. Do you want a drink? Are you tired? You're probably exhausted!"

He held up his hands with a short laugh. "I'm good, though some tea with lunch would be nice. But, um, Mom, about my room, I have to tell you –"

Abel cut off when something moved in his peripheral. Descending the marble staircase, standing as tall and proud as he ever did, Abel's father met them in the foyer. He kept a few feet of distance, eyeing his son closely. There was a brief silence, and Cheryl patted Abel's arm reassuringly as the quiet stretched.

"You're home then," Thomas said at last, his tone hard to identify. Abel searched his father's face, trying to find something he could recognize, some indication as to how this reunion would go. Three years had given Thomas stern lines and more silver in his hair, but his shoulders were straight and his gaze was level.

"Hey, Dad," Abel said, tone somewhat guarded. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," Thomas replied smoothly. "It's been a while."

Abel nodded, forcing himself to not grip his travel bag tighter.

Cheryl looked from her husband to her son, lips drawn and red nails flicking anxiously. "Well, I'm going to see how they're doing in the kitchen. You must be starved, dear." She leaned in to give Abel another strong hug, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "I just can't believe you're home. I'm so, so happy. I can't wait to hear all about your work." Before Abel could reply, she looked to the side. "Fedya," she called, motioning to a colonial servant, "go on and take Ethan's coat. And don't forget the windows, there's still so much pollen."

With one last smile, she kissed her son on the cheek and left for the kitchen.

Abel tried not to look awkward when he removed his coat, thanking Fedya quietly and politely his father went to the lounge. Leaving his bag by the door, Abel followed after Thomas. He watched as his father poured a glass of Crown from a nearby cabinet, the amber swirl of the liquid gleaming behind the crystal.

"Drink?" his father asked, proffering the glass curiously. When Abel nodded, Thomas handed him the drink and began to pour another for himself.

Abel took a sip and tried not to shift his weight under his father's measuring stare.

"You've lost weight," Thomas said, ignoring his own glass for now.

Abel gave a modest shrug. "I've been under a lot of stress. I didn't eat as much as I should have. Cain – my fighter – he used to throw stale rolls at me until I would eat more, but I was pretty busy."

His father frowned, but there wasn't any criticism in his voice when he said, "You'll be able to rest now. Much more, anyway. Should put on some weight easily."

"Yeah, I think so too. How have you and Mom been?"

Thomas sipped at his drink before answering. "Much the same as ever. We took a trip to the hot springs last fall, but beyond that I've just been working. Your mother has picked up this crafting habit. I'm sure you've noticed," he added dryly, motioning to the brightly stitched blanket on the "man chair" and the mosaic coasters lining the bar.

Abel made no effort to hide his smile. "It's certainly more colorful in here. I like it."

His father grunted but made no reply to that.

"How's your work going?"Abel asked.

"It's good, it's good. After the Aegir promotion, talk of a conservative repeal has started. It'll be interesting to see how things change now that the war is over. When the campaign picks up next month, I'm sure everyone will want to meet you."

Abel ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. "I'm not that special."

"Nonsense. You're a war hero," Thomas said quietly before taking another sip of Crown.

Abel watched his father with reserve, wondering at his tone. He wasn't sure what kind of reception he had been expecting at home, but he hoped his father wasn't going to hold his decision to commit to the Alliance in contempt.

"Do you still collect cars?" Abel asked, changing the subject in an effort to find pleasant ground.

Thomas nodded over his glass, eyes bright. "Of course. I have an Equulues 7 in the garage right now; finest car since the Pyxis. I'll introduce you, but I imagine you'll want to unpack first. Don't mess up your room, by the way; your mother's been a nag over the whole house ever since you were discharged."

Abel looking away, feeling anxiety like weight. "Actually, I meant to tell you and Mom… I'm going to stay for a few days – I've missed you both so much – but I'm going to find my own place soon."

His father gave him an appraising look. "Mature," he offered. "Life in the military taught you independence. That's good. You'll want to start your own life here on Earth."

"Yeah, I do," Abel answered guardedly, needing a moment to find his resolve. "I'm going to have a roommate."

Thomas' brows lowered in a curious frown. "Who?"

"My fighter, Cain."

"Your fighter. A colonial." Sharp, surprised.

Abel nodded tightly and did his best to keep his voice smooth, forcing himself to meet his father's steady gaze. "Yes. We've been together for three years."

His father snorted before the grip on his glass suddenly blanched white with realization. "Together? You- Are you saying you've been- _sleeping_ with him?"

Abel braced himself, but dread and hurt and shame still threatened to roll his stomach. He told himself he had been prepared for this, that his father was his father and no matter what, he'd walk away from this calmly and head held high. But standing there, faced with his father's disgust, he found it hard to keep his shoulders straight; the fact that his travel bag remained unpacked by the front door didn't make this any easier.

"Yes," Abel said, relying on the neatness of honesty to get him through this. Relying on the fact that Cain was waiting in a coffee shop just a few miles away. "I know you don't approve. I know he's colonial born, and I know he's brash and poor, and he's got a rough past and a bit of an attitude, but I trust him, and I like him, and right now I need what's best for me, and that's Cain. We're both going to get jobs and work hard and make a living together. We're going to rake leaves and pay bills and burn dinner and just- live, like we both need. And I'm- I'm sorry if you can't accept that, and I'm sorry that I've disappointed you." His voice dropped to a murmur. "I never wanted to disappoint you, Dad. But this is what I've decided."

Thomas stared at his son in shocked silence, drink forgotten in hand. After a moment, he shook his head, lips moving without sound as he struggled for words. Then, placing his glass on the counter, he turned back. "Ethan…"

"Say what you want, but not around Mom. Let's just have lunch, and I'll leave afterward."

Thomas shook his head. "Foolish," he whispered.

Abel glared to the side, trying not to look as hurt as he felt. He squared his shoulders to muster some courage when Thomas suddenly closed the distance between them and pulled his son into a hug. "I don't give a shit about that right now," he said quietly, roughly, voice uneven for the first time Abel could ever recall. "I thought- I didn't think- You could have died, Ethan. You could have never come home." His grip tightened, and Abel struggled faintly for air, but he gripped his father back just as hard, throat growing tense and hands shaking.

When Thomas leaned away, he released a shaky breath and shook his head again, looking like a fifty-six year-old father rather than a cold politician. "You and that stupid war and your idiotic ideals. But it's over. It's over, and my son's a hero." His smile was tight, but pride creased his eyes. He paused before asking, "You're absolutely sure, though? About the colonial?"

Despite the small protest he felt, Abel couldn't help but laugh in relief, mind racing to keep up with the turn of the conversation. "It's Cain. And yes, I'm sure. I think it's the right decision."

His father didn't look convinced, and there was an edge of disdain in the acknowledging hum he gave, but he nodded. "You always were… daring. So," he said decisively, dissatisfied but curious, "just what kind of man is this Cain?"

"Well…"


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't think this is a good idea, princess."

Abel smoothed the front of Cain's dark green sweater and offered a reassuring smile. "Give them a chance. They're willing to give you one."

"I will," Cain griped half-heartedly. "But they won't like me." He tugged at his collar, unconsciously mimicking Abel's efforts to straighten his appearance.

"They'll like you," Abel said, not for the first time but dearly hoped it was true. He looked around their modest kitchen and dining area, counting off fingers as he started to talk. "The table's all set and the pasta is ready, mom's favorite wine is out, everything's clean –"

"Nobody's naked," Cain added helpfully, smirking.

Abel smiled at him before he continued. "Nobody's naked, and dessert just went in the oven. Right, I think… that's it."

Cain pushed up his sleeves and leaned against the kitchen counter. "You're as nervous as I am."

Abel shrugged, but he nodded after a moment. "We've only been in this apartment for three weeks; I feel like I haven't had enough time to really, you know, make it homey."

"You mean you're worried they'll think it's a shitty place," Cain said, not quite asking.

Abel sighed. "Yeah. That."

Cain opened his mouth to reply that their apartment was nicer than any place he had lived as a kid, but knocking cut him off. He glanced toward the wall that hid the front door from the kitchen. "You answer."

Abel nodded and turned to kiss Cain on the cheek. "Please," he emphasized, not for the first time, "try not to cuss too much, and don't smoke inside, and please, _please_, don't grope me or anything while they're here."

"I know, I know," Cain scoffed. "We've been through this. Open the friggin' door already."

Taking a deep breath, he spared one last look for the room, double-checking that everything was in order, and went to the modest foyer. When he opened the front door, he smiled, but he had to fight down the nervous flutters in his stomach. "Hi, Mom, Dad," he greeted, stepping aside for them to enter. "We're glad you could make it."

Cheryl gave her son a warm hug. "Us too! It smells great. Italian?"

"Yeah," Abel told her proudly. "I tried a popular local recipe. I hope it's edible."

"I'm sure it's fine," Thomas said off-handedly. "God knows I can't cook without burning everything. The place is still standing; you must have your mother's knack for it."

Abel laughed. "We'll see. Here, let me have your coats."

His mother chatted amiably while she removed her thick fur wrap, careful not to twist her pearl bracelets. "Your father and I saw a deer on the way here. Can you believe that? I haven't seen one in years. And- oh." She peered over Abel's shoulder when Cain came into view, offering a hesitant smile. "You must be Nikolai."

Coats in hand, Abel stepped back, feeling his stomach flutter again. "Mom, Dad, this is Nik. Nik, my parents, Thomas and Cheryl."

Cain walked over, shoulders straight and back somewhat tense, as though his training in the military was an instinctual defense against meeting "the parents." He stopped just a couple of feet away and nodded. "Nice to meet you," he said, and there was a slight pause before he remembered to hold out a hand.

There was another pause, this one just as awkward, before Thomas offered his own hand; and both of their grips were tense. "Likewise," Thomas said, voice carefully neutral.

Cheryl gave a flutter of her fingers, accustomed to the way her pearls rung softly against her wrist. "Ethan must have practiced these past few days. Last time we talked, he kept slipping and calling you 'Cain'. Poor thing kept having to correct himself."

Cain finally allowed himself to relax enough to smirk at that; around others, they were Nikolai and Ethan, as they had been and as they would be, but around each other, Cain and Abel still felt natural, a piece of the past they could share in private. "It's no big deal," he told them. "I'll probably slip a few times too."

Cheryl gave a soft, hollow laugh, uncomfortable with the reminder that her son had once been an "Abel" instead of her "Ethan." It was a fake sound, one that made Abel briefly look away, and Cain tried to pretend he didn't notice the way Thomas' expression never broke from stoic.

Abel finally broke the tense silence that followed and motioned to the rest of the apartment. "Well, come in, make yourselves comfortable."

Cheryl nodded, looking at once curious and amused as she glanced around at the small office table and cramped bookshelves that separated the foyer from the other rooms. She stopped in the kitchen, face bright with the evening light streaming through the window above the sink. "It's _darling_."

Thomas stood by her side, eyes lingering on the cheap linoleum floor. "It's kind of small. And old."

Cain felt a flush of anger and shame, a swipe of heat beneath his cheeks and along his throat, but he kept quiet. Abel's blush was enough of a reply for both of them anyway, he thought.

"It's the best we can afford right now," Abel said, trying to keep from sounding stiff. "We'll touch it up a bit until we can look someplace nicer, but for now, this is home."

Cheryl patted her son's arm, "You know you can always ask for help."

Thomas frowned, opened his mouth to argue that, but Abel spoke first: "No. Nik and I are going to support ourselves. We'll get by on our own work." He reached into the cupboard and pulled out four glasses, hoping his mother didn't press the issue. "Wine? I bought Merlot."

Thomas nodded shortly at the wine, waving a dismissive hand as he sat down and picked up the conversation. "You'll get there. You're smart. Were you able to get in touch with Davenport at the Earthpoint Engineering office?"

Abel flushed a little and shot a quick look at Cain. "Um, yeah, actually. I have an interview this Thursday."

Cain frowned, leaning back against the counter so he didn't have to sit across from Abel's father. "This is the first I've heard of any interview," he said slowly, careful to keep his tone even.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Abel told him, offering a little smile laced with pride as he poured wine. "It's a nice place, and I'd get to work on connections between here and the colonies."

"Where do you work?" Thomas asked suddenly, looking coldly at Cain, who reached into the fridge for a beer.

"Mom and Pop's diner just a few miles away," he answered, shrugging. "Good coffee, cheap food."

"Oh, well, at least it's something," Cheryl said optimistically. "What are your career plans?"

"I don't think he has any, dear," Thomas said, taking a sip of Merlot.

"Dad! That was rude."

"Well, does he?" his father asked, looking at Cain when Abel continued to look offended.

Cain gritted his teeth, told himself he had expected as much and that it wasn't worth a fight, not when Abel wanted this so much, not when a cutting word wouldn't be worth it at the end of the day. "Not currently."

Thomas spread one hand, as if to say he figured as much.

Abel's scowl slipped as watched Cain, expression softening with sympathy as he thought about the truth behind Cain's efforts, about the grim reputation that the Alliance fighters had carried to their homes, the struggles and prejudices that accompanied background checks now that the war was over and people couldn't remember how those _brash, uncultured, violent fighters_ had fought for their safety. The last few months hadn't been easy for either of them, but for Cain, it had been worse.

"I'm proud of him," Abel said, giving his father a stern look before turning a soft smile to Cain, earning surprised expressions from both.

"Of course you are!" Cheryl said, smoothly interrupting before Thomas could reply. "Now, Abel, you have to tell me what you've cooked. It smells great."

Her son nodded, slightly relieved by the change of topics, and walked with her to the stove.

Cain watched as Abel started motioning over the different pots on the counter, half-hoping the dish would end up tasting like crap so the crones would hurry up and leave. He could practically feel Thomas staring at him, see that stony expression in his peripheral, those sharp blue eyes and pale blonde hair like a bitter reminder that Abel was too good for him; Thomas certainly thought so.

"…pasta they serve locally," Abel was saying. "It's pretty spiced, but the meat was marinated with this cranberry vinegar, so it's really complemented. I got the recipe from a neighbor. And with it –" He paused and looked over the counter.

Cheryl blinked curiously. "What's wrong?"

"The bread…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh no, I forgot to get the bread."

Cain shrugged, didn't want this night to be drawn out any longer than it had to be. "No big deal."

"He's right, Ethan," Cheryl said. "It's okay."

Abel hesitated. "It's really good with the pasta though, and the store's right down the road…"

Cain rolled his eyes, knowing he was about to become the errand boy. "Look, prin- eh, Abel… _Ethan_, it's a bit late for me to run out."

Abel nodded. "I'll get it. I know which type to get."

"I'll go with you!" Cheryl told him. "I'd love to see what the little grocery store looks like."

Thomas stood up, careful not to knock over his glass of wine. "I'll go too, then."

"Well, we don't all need to go, Tom. You and Nikolai stay, Ethan and I will be back soon."

"Wait –" Cain and Thomas said, nearly simultaneously, and they shot each other aggravated looks.

Abel hesitated, worried that he might come back to an injured father or a chain smoking, Russian-trash-talking Cain, but before he could suggest an alternative his mother was tugging on his arm. "Come on, Ethan. Let these two get to know each other. We'll be back in just a bit."

Abel gave a slow, uncertain nod before grabbing his wallet. "Okay, um… If you need anything, Dad, make yourself at home. Nik, remember to take the shortcake out of the oven, okay?"

Cain snorted but agreed, and Thomas let out a short sigh.

Then it was just the two of them, and the apartment had never been smaller.


End file.
